After Never
by Hanyou Hitokiri
Summary: When you say never, make sure the specifics are in order. Particularly when handling one with practice slipping right beyond it.
1. Chapter 1

I'm gonna lay it out straight, cause you'll find out by the end of the second paragraph anyway. This is a vampire/were-creature/blah blah blah fic. If you've had enough of this little cliché then I have no problem for huffiness and clicking the back button. I just don't want some whiny or complaining review, is all. Can you blame me for saving myself from unnecessary grief? I enjoy writing vampire fics, but only when the characters in particular can fit with the profile.

On a lighter note, OMGYAY my first Bleach fic, which is a GinRan to boot! (Which is a lie; it's my first _posted_ Bleach fic.) They're my most fav pairing. I think they're such a wickedly sweet, totally hott, awesome paring with the most interesting possible love story out of any couple I myself have seen. Plus, I adore Ichimaru Gin. He's the smex. As a vampire, it triples. But anyway, enough ranting.

TGN…not a word out of you.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Bleach, which does belong to the awesomeness of Tite Kubo. Many thanks for the creation for cause of such a fandom as Bleach.

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With airs of boredom, Matsumoto scanned the darkened ballroom. At a lonesome table, she leaned her back against the wall, draping a free arm over the chair back, legs crossed, the spike of her heel poised ready just in case an impaling became mandatory. Suits and ball dresses swept across the floor in the dazzling shutter affect of lights and multi-colored rotating bulbs. It made her, clothed in a suede black top with an open silver drop beneath the collar that showed a sample of her bosom and simple black suit pants covering a portion of the endearing tangle of decorated straps on her shoes, rather underdressed for the occasion.

A pair of women sashayed by, their predatory eyes reflecting the passing lights like an animal's, and with twin snarls twisting painted blood-red lips, they scurried past into the crowd where the mocking barks and howls mingled with the music and the steady bass beats. Matsumoto tipped her glass, rolling her eyes. Having to deal with jealous female shape shifters—fact proved Were's attraction was based entirely off the physique, no personality involved, which made sense considering their breeds were more animal than human—just contributed to the constant harassing presence of death permeating the room. Not death as in ghosts, no, those had a different taste, more pleasant to be truthful. Ghosts, if hovering anywhere inside this room Matsumoto would know; she could taste death, and the sweetness of ghosts—how sweet depending on the emotion caged inside the spirit—tasted much better than the salty flavor of the undead.

She hardly went around licking people to see how they tasted; rather she felt their essence first brush across her skin then coat the back of her tongue faintly. Overall she hardly enjoyed the experience; it always associated with these kinds of crowds: the rowdy, dangerous ones. But the job paid well and the maximum insurance coverage left her with empty assurance. For the most part the nasty nighters left her alone, knowing the official stamp she carried could rain down an ugly hell dressed in black leather with guns illegal if used otherwise. Matsumoto Rangiku was a name well enough known.

Tonight's assignment was simple: make sure no one had been too bad recently. How would she know? Ghosts had a funny habit of following the person-creature who killed them, hovering like an odor, sometimes moaning or whining, which did them no earthy good. Not many had the ability to see spirits. Without any physical evidence against them, agencies had to put their trust in the few like Matsumoto who could, in all sense, sniff out foul play. What made it even greater was that this method only worked on the Weres, not so much other humans, but the shape shifters did have some higher amount of spiritual draw where a ghost could attach to them instead of a building or roadside sign. Unless the human could see ghosts, which was another matter altogether. For some reason, the undead couldn't keep a hold on the ghost of a victim. Sometimes they left trace, but victims were normally never seen or heard of again except through the doors of the agency into the ears of family but never left their silenced mouths. It was all just a vicious cycle, and Matsumoto had fallen unwillingly into the mix.

She almost flipped her phone and dialed the number too report no incident when her skin thoroughly began to crawl. Tingling skittered up her arms to the top of her head, the sensation she got when confronted with numerous undead or when a rather powerful one entered her zone. With her skills leaning toward more living creatures, vampires, as well as zombies and everything else besides spirits since they couldn't do anything anyway, left her wide open. Vulnerability never set her jaw right and she always left quickly when it happened by, but this presence was slightly different than before. She sincerely hated their sour saltiness, the way they overpowered the ghosts she was there to search for, and how stronger essences always intermingled with each other if they were closely bonded. Sometimes they appeared as one being instead of two or maybe more, and occasionally they would completely cancel one other out, making tracking impossible and attack highly probable and deadly. Matsumoto would have left, screw the call she could make at home, when, following right after this vampire came the almost smothered scent of a ghost riding the tide of a Were.

Great.

From the feel of things, that Were was with the vampire, probably a paid lackey or warm bodyguard/emergency meal ticket. Even better. Run-ins such as these demanded a pass-and-go examination so head honcho couldn't be sure who ratted his man out. Even postponing a reconnaissance would lead the trail directly to Matsumoto since everyone already knew she was in the building when so-and-so showed up after having a late night human snack, who was then busted for it a week later and so on. She was in a pretty tight spot.

Checking her watch, it read half past twelve; still not late enough for her to call it a morning but early enough that she might get away with the report. She'd request a two week stall, maybe some surveillance so the bastard doesn't dine ultra fine again until he's taken down, and forget about the whole thing until her rounds brought her back to this table in this club with the same drink.

When she stood, tossing a strand of long hair back over her shoulder, she almost threw the glass just to add to the effect of all the stares, but saved the antics for another night. Clicking through the throngs, bodily screaming that whoever wanted a bite would get more than they would want to chew, she bee-lined for the far end of the club, avoiding the dancers even though a few songs didn't sound so bad, and the clusters of eerily silent vampires.

A cold, thin hand latched onto her ankle, and chilly breath raced up her calf. With some effort, Matsumoto angled an acute glance as the snickering vampires hiding in the shade of an alcove.

"I'm very sorry," one of them purred, gliding forward to grasp the feral being by the heavy leather collar around its neck. "He's usually behaved, unless of course around humans. Best to be careful, hm?"

The vampire dragged his drooling pet away, its white eyes watching, bared teeth clacking and gnashing. He didn't keep a solid grip, purposefully since vampires' strength went unmatched for the most part, and the zombie lunged, hissing a low, nail-biting tremor that rattled the bones. Matsumoto, already aware of the intent, unhooked the steel blending in with her outfit, wondering what it took to kill a zombie when a gust of air puffed between her and her opponent. The zombie was gone, and the vampires frozen with open frustrated wariness.

"You can keep a tighter leash than that," a smooth tenor cut like silk. "Tousen?"

A dark-skinned man, fairly tall and slender, emerged, heavy shades hiding his eyes and perfectly neat cornrows rolling from his head to his shoulders. Without much emphasis he replied. "It was taken care of."

"Good," Aizen Sousuke, well-renowned vampire, audaciously arrogant with the infuriating amount of power to back it up, incomparably hospitable to any species while at the same moment could very well be plotting death. His dark eyes appeared passive but could slice at once; they were without a doubt the most deadened thriving eyes, colder than the grave itself, and intimately whispered his true thoughts as his devil's tongue uttered words meant to soothe the soul. "Pet's should be easier controlled and not harm the guest."

Matsumoto's would-be assailant nodded. "Of course. It was very ill mannered of me." With a withering glare, he retreated. She'd rather he stayed and they bring that zombie and a half dozen more than face the man behind her.

Aizen clucked his tongue like he'd scolded naughty children. "It's a shame, these younger folk. They have no sense of mannerisms."

"I've gotten worse," Matsumoto replied. She turned around to face the man she'd heard so much about, only seen once from a distance, and never had the horror of making acquaintance with before. In her line of work, vampires were out of the picture except for cases like this, which always had a powerful sonofabitch at the top.

"I'm sure you have, but as long as you're under one of my roofs, consider yourself completely safe."

What a lie; his eyes almost danced from their sockets with maleficent glee. "That's assuring and much appreciated. I would stay longer but I'm out past my curfew."

Aizen nodded, almost bowing. "I understand, but let's have a small chat first. It'll only take a minute, and we've hardly properly introduced ourselves. I'm Aizen Sousuke. This," he swept his arm, "is one my many establishments."

"Matsumoto Rangiku," she offered after a brief pause. "And let's leave it at that," she smiled charmingly.

"I've heard that name passed around for a couple years now, but I've never had a face to the name." He paused, studying her face before he stirred and motioned to his companion. "This is Tousen."

More unpleasant chit-chat with Tousen, yet no establishing titles mentioned. He was either low ranking in whatever hierarchy Aizen had going for himself, or the information was strictly need-to-know. Either way, Matsumoto had already learned much about Aizen's counterparts and followers and she quite frankly couldn't care less. She wanted the hell out.

"From what I've gathered," Aizen continued, "you have a very unique talent for spotting ghosts, if I'm correct?"

"That's right."

"And you've already 'bagged' a fair number of Were-creatures for such a short amount of time. Interesting. It's been some time since I've seen a talent like yours, though I've heard mention of another, a young boy perhaps, who's developing quite nicely. You wouldn't happen to know him?"

Apparently, he liked to talk. "No," Matsumoto replied, fed up with the ridiculous see-through antics. "There's no official club for this line of abilities."

"It's a shame, really. People of likenesses should collaborate and share ideas sometimes."

Her eyes narrowed. "The last time that happened about…a hundred years ago, nearly everyone was killed when the building collapsed."

He smiled. "Unfortunate. But accidents happen to the best of people with the best of intentions. I believe those smart enough to understand when those intentions go too far for their own good are the ones who live the longest."

Matsumoto had nothing to reply with except a silent nod, to which Aizen smiled again, broadly, eyes alive with unimaginable mirth. "I've kept you long enough. I'll have a silent escort see you safely outside. It was wonderful speaking with you, Matsumoto. Come see me again."

Invitation not mutual, but she thanked him again anyway, quickly turning the direction she came from, towards the front door. Well, safety first they always said. She or someone else would chance a bead on the Were at some point. Without a face, she couldn't do much tonight.

She half expected Tousen to start silently trailing behind her, but he instead disappeared with Aizen, undoubtedly watching from somewhere, the bastards. Pondering just what silent escort really meant, the tingling of closing undead returned and from the familiar crowd of onlookers came the vampire who'd taken a thrashing from Aizen.

More fun.

Jaw tight, his narrowed accusing eyes simmered with authority associated with leaders of covens. "You've had your fun for the night, Seeker?" he sneered.

"Actually it was pretty boring. Well besides the whole zombie bit, but that's alright."

"You're very unwise to carelessly banter with me after such conceit, embarrassing me in front of Aizen Sousuke and the rest of my people."

Wow. "Look, it's not like I'd planned him showing up, though it was helpful after that deliberate little unfunny joke."

Teeth bare, he hissed. "Arrogant humans don't live long here."

"Funny thing cause neith'r do th' disobedient vampires, hm?" Ghosting from the side, yet another stepped carelessly in front of Matsumoto, almost intentionally ignoring her presence. His shock of silver hair reflected the bouncing lights, and all else she could glimpse from his profiled face was the half of a wide grin.

Frowning, for a moment Matsumoto thought this was just some vampire taking sides with the human as some of them do, but the mannerism and stance, the unyielding force of power, and fear shifting the others back told otherwise. Her silent escort, an accomplice of Aizen doing as he was told. Funny how her skin crawled more heavily with this one near.

"Ya got ta understa'd that much, runnin' yer own crowd." He shooed them away. "Go on. Leave the Ms. Seek'r in some peace."

No words this time; they all vanished.

"Ya don't know much 'bout vampires, do ya?" he asked her without turning around.

Swallowing, she shook her head. "Not my department. They have people who handle that."

The third of the infamous trio cocked his head to the side, grin nearly bursting from his face. "Ya want'd ta leave, didn't ya? Th' door's th's way."

Matsumoto started forward, and he fell in step slightly behind her. "I guess 'silent escort' is now out of the question?"

"Jus' makin' sure."

"You're Ichimaru, aren't you?" The question sort of burst, and she almost regretted it. His smile and thinly slit eyes held true amusement.

"Ya heard 'bout me?"

"I'm not sure who hasn't," she tried to dismiss it.

"Well, I'm flatter'd." He paused for a beat. "Ya gonna introduce yerself?"

She cut him a look. After giving Aizen her name, he'd find out eventually. But, having given Aizen her name, how could it get any worse? "Matsumoto."

He hummed. "Jus' one name?"

"Do _you_ just have one? That's all you gave me."

"Gin."

"Gin?"

"Yeah," he grinned.

"Ichimaru Gin. Interesting. Matsumoto Rangiku."

His eyes opened a bit more, but the lights canceled out their color, and his smirk changed as the door opened to the cool fall breeze. In the white glow of passing cars, signs, and streetlights his steamy-emerald and ice-cerulean-tainted eyes flashed from between jagged locks of hoary bangs. The slight inclined cock of his head pronounced the two round piercings accenting his ear and titled his ever-present mask of amusement. His white shirt's top two buttons rested undone underneath the coal black sports jacket, differentiating from Aizen and Tousen who both wore white suits personalized to taste. All three, however, marked their chest pockets with a wine-red kerchief.

Matsumoto prided herself by not bolting down the street, and ignored the fact that the display kept her feet from moving, though partially out of fear.

Ichimaru's amusement grew across his face and glittered darkly in his eyes. "Ya want me ta walk ya home?"

"Ah, no," Matsumoto disagreed as he started moving forward without consent. "I'll be fine, but thanks. You don't have to bother."

"Ain't a bother," he shrugged.

She tried to smile, act thankful, and get far away. "Thanks anyway."

"Yer patrol gonna swing ya back 'round here anytime soon?"

That he understood the constant moving this job, even part-time, obligated for its workers didn't come as such a shock, but she stopped anyway, turning around to face his loosely-strung but highly alert body almost slouching as he stood in the doorway, music pumping behind him.

"I'm not sure," she half-lied, "but it could happen."

"When ya do, make sure ya find me."

Oddly enough, her apartment didn't welcome her return and the silence oppressed rather jarringly compared to the noise she'd immersed herself in for the past four hours. Despite taking an Aspirin for a headache, Matsumoto flipped on the television, vowing to make the call tomorrow before her second move this month, and fell asleep watching a late night parade of police chasing a violent driver down the highway. She slept well into the morning, missing the latest news flash:

…_another incident. Reports acknowledge that the corpse is in fact the head of a local small coven that has been known to remain at peace with the human populace and also retain a minority of the zombies in the area. Police have also noted that no hunters were assigned this vampire, and concluded that, by the sheer number and violence of the injuries, only another vampire could have done this. We have video feed of the scene and I would strongly advise any children and younger people be sent from the room as we pan the scene_…

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And there you have it. For my first Bleach fic, I decided to leave it very simple to get the feel of my somewhat new fandom in the fic writing area. Haha! If you get the sensation of OOCness, then I apologize. It's just the first chapter, and I actually want to keep everyone in character. (I shamelessly think I did a fairly good job on at least a couple people…)

Reviews are appreciated! Criticism is welcomed! Flames will be chuckled at! Thank you for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

Standard disclaimers apply. Bleach is far from mine.

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Months of rotation and Matsumoto found herself once again wrapped inside the city practically owned by the night, particularly its creatures, and absently flipped the pages of reprinted documents set one hundred and fifteen years earlier of a Seeker who previously held Matsumoto's same route. No name was recorded, as was tradition, and events of the past proved no different to the ones she faced today. Familiar names sprinkled the paragraphs, Aizen being one of those, almost always accompanied by Tousen, sometimes Ichimaru Gin. He had a fair number of pages directed solely at him almost, with jargon and official statements peppering the irritation screaming from between the lines.

The first record book she read of the Seeker right before her, who had died about nine years ago, only had a couple entries involving a creepy silver-haired vampire.

The silent room's doors slapped open and a well armed guard ushered a small boy inside sternly but notably refrained from touching the kid. "That room is off-limits, as I've told you before. _Stay here_ like you're supposed to."

"It's dull in here," the boy grumbled, crossing his thin arms, scowl deepening. He cast a cold-aqua glance at Matsumoto. "There's nothing to do."

"A far as I know, you're leaving soon anyway. Just…stay here." The guard looked at Matsumoto, almost pleadingly, but she snorted off his request. She wasn't a baby-sitter.

"Would you bring me a book at least?"

From over his shoulder, the man snapped, "_Not_ from _that_ library!"

Curiously, Matsumoto flipped pages while watching the kid wander into a chair, huffing mightily as he sat to glare at a spot on the clean, off-white wall.

"If you're trying to be sneaky," he mumbled, flicking a stern glimpse, "you're doing a bad job."

Snapping the book shut, and almost scaring him, Matsumoto turned her full attention. "Oh, then you finally noticed? Look kid, at least he didn't kick you out right off the bat. You're not the first who wanted a peek inside. Next time try to be a bit more sly."

He eyed her incredulously. "I wasn't trying anything. I walked right in."

She lifted her brows. "There's the problem. I've seen bold boys like you run home crying. Just be careful about what room you decide to waltz into."

He shifted lower into his chair, muttering something she couldn't catch.

Tapping her chin, she altered the discussion. "So who let you color your hair when you're so young? What, nine? Ten?"

"Twelve, almost thirteen," he growled. "And my hair's naturally white."

Oh. Ego blow. Matsumoto apologized, and he grunted.

"So," he ground between his teeth, "who are you exactly?"

"Matsumoto Rangiku, native Seeker, soon-to-be employee on the run." She winked.

He rolled his eyes. "Hitsugaya Toushirou. This is going to be my company one day. I'll keep that in mind."

Whoops. She smiled, wondering if she could skip out on this meeting just so the squirt wouldn't have more time to memorize her face.

Slightly curious, though, he asked, "You're from here?"

"Mhm. Born and raised, kid. It's not a pretty town; don't let anyone tell you otherwise. They picked the worst and the best spot for headquarters: right in the middle of all the action."

"Don't worry," Toushirou's face scrunched. "I hate it here anyway. It's too warm. I like the cold better, like where I'm from. And there aren't as many of those things running around either. They just make everything complicated." His eyes narrowed as he pondered. "A Seeker? That's…living based, right? Werewolves, werepanthers, and whatever else?"

"Right. Ironically, only Seekers can see ghosts." Matsumoto quirked her eyebrows. "You've read up on your history, I hope? I don't want an unknowledgeable boss now, when the time comes." Hopefully she's still alive by then, she absently thought.

"I have. What they've given me. I can't get into the main library where all the important information is yet."

"Stuff like this?" She produced her book. "This is big boy stuff," she cooed.

Toushirou glowered. "I'm almost thirteen."

"Shirou-chan!" a high but not unpleasant soprano rang through the opening door. A flash of relief and joy crossed Toushirou's stern features before annoyance lightly pinched his lips.

The current corporation head, Ukitake Juushirou, drifted behind the young girl not two years Toushirou's senior. She darted to his side, immediately taking his hand without thought, dragging his half unwilling self for the door.

"We'll be late, Shirou-chan!" Pleading with big brown eyes, thin black hair pulled into a cute ponytail, she tugged a bit more against his fading will. "Hurry!"

"Stop calling me that and I might consider it."

Rangiku, at the entertainment, suppressed the urge to clap, giggle, and coo at the adorableness, seeing as Toushirou's manliness had already taken a few beatings. Still, how cute!

Ukitake, a mild man ironically running one of the most dangerous corporations around, contented himself by watching with soft coffee eyes; no comments for the growing boy. When all was quiet he turned to Matsumoto. "Rangiku! It's always wonderful to see you back at home."

"Thanks," she stepped into his clean office, ignoring the pill bottles left standing like burnt orange sentries on the corner of his desk. "Is he your son?"

"Toushirou?" Ukitake inquired as he settled himself in the extremely comfortable-looking leather high back chair. "Oh, no. A nephew, actually. My only nephew."

"Ah," she nodded. "Even so there's so much resemblance!"

"Only some," the man smiled faintly. "Hair mostly; after the fact there really isn't much."

"Who was the young lady he looked so comfortable with?"

Ukitake chuckled. "Hinamori Momo. They've been friends ever since Toushirou moved down here to live with me. It's been…about seven years now."

"Old friends, huh? That's so cute! But does she know about his career yet?"

"Of course. There's no problem from her view, though that might be thinking a bit far ahead. By the way, how did you know about that?"

"He formally informed me right after I declared about going AWOL."

"That's an old threat, but I doubt he knows that. He's not much of a kidder for being so young. It's qualities that the department heads like to see in any case." He shrugged almost mournfully. "I hope his friendship with Momo can soften him up a little. Otherwise working with quite a few members of the staff will be very interesting to say the least."

"I wouldn't dream of giving any unnecessary hardships for the boss!" Rangiku confessed innocently.

Sighing lightly but with a genuine smile, Ukitake leaned over his desk, sure sign the real meeting officially began. "Speaking of bosses and hardships, I heard you gave the head of our southern branch quite a mouthful last week."

Huffing prettily, she folded her arms and sat back, tilting her head a bit to stare semi-irritated at the ceiling. "He looked like a squealer."

"Reporting incidents isn't squealing. It's part of the job description, which also mentions keeping pleasant relations with the ones who have the power to send in help when needed, or not."

"Emotions aren't part of the job."

"They shouldn't," he readily agreed, "but sometimes they get in the way, cloud someone's better judgment, and eventually all pile up right here on my desk in paperwork form in addition to everyday work. Personally, I enjoy my job, but that doesn't mean I'd like to have a special case on my hands. Especially evolving you; and something like that could possibly carry over into Toushirou's control. Now, I'd rather not know what started the argument or what was said. All I want is a bit more willingness on your part. He's not the easiest man to deal with, but certainly not the most difficult, I'm sure."

Matsumoto nodded. "I'll do my best."

"It's all I ask. Now, as for tonight, I originally had you stationed at the southeastern border near the river, but in light of a situation with the new recruit, I'm switching you with his schedule. You'll be taking the northern and northeastern quarters since another of ours was placed in the hospital a few days ago. I tried to contact any backup available but there was none for the next couple nights. I'm sure you can handle it?"

"Yeah, the northeastern quarter is filled with a bunch of human-lovers and whatnot. They never cause too much trouble, and monitoring monster fights aren't what I'm paid for," she smiled.

"Even so," Ukitake urged as they stood and he walked with her to the door, "don't hesitate to give me a call directly. I wasn't prepared to have you switched, then given two areas to patrol. Any extra personal will be ready at a moment's notice."

"I'll be fine," Matsumoto assured him. "Besides, on a night like this, I'm sure not a thing interesting is going to happen. It'll be boring probably, and I might fall asleep." With a short laugh, she left, a slightly concerned smile on Ukitake's lips as he hoped that didn't happen again.

(())

The northeastern corner, home to the hippies of the underworld staking claim against human consumption and taking an unconventional outlook on life by drinking concoctions mixed with animal blood, straight liquor, and other, unmentionable substances. Apparently it was the cocaine of the vampires, addictive and highly intoxicating, having effects that lasted twice as long as a normal meal. As a strange effect, it also made them more docile, opposing a vampire's natural, more instinctive-driven lifestyle. Screwing with your mind had no borderlines it seemed.

In any case, it made for an easy night when not bombarded with slurring child-like giddiness times a hundred in the bodily harm department as an unfamiliar human passing through. Matsumoto had taken this side of the city before, but never expected any of them to remember. They had more important things on the brain.

Hippie vamps were one thing, success rate on their end rose higher than the poor, idiotic Weres who turned unnaturally violent when placed on a strictly no meat diet. Still, they tried. Seekers had no business with them since the number of ghosts usually surrounding the dieting Were was so syrupy sweet it shocked, causing black-out and sometimes a sugar-induced coma. Then said Seeker couldn't get away. It was a messy situation Matsumoto could sleep perfectly fine without.

But of course, the flouncing speech she'd made in Ukitake's office had to turn around a chase her like the devil's hound. Every time the Were pounced, came within hearing range as if hot, dripping steam slithered down her cold neck, Matsumoto's focus faltered, white-hot torment stabbing sweetly from the back of her dry throat. Each breath seared like swallowing rock candy without chewing first. Lead feet, foggy vision, hiccupping in a child's fashion, Matsumoto created quite a scene tripping over garbage cans and curbs.

Of all the incredible, flaunty ways to die in the business, Matsumoto obviously clasped the short stick. Maybe when she took a crack at a kid who turned out as her future boss, or got snippy over a trivial matter downtown at the capital. Was there karma against things like that? It had a real nice ring. Poke a little boy in the ego and in return a drugged were-creature will first disorientate then messily devour you in the same night. Wasn't there some sort of rule against getting bit back in less than two hours? Though it could have also been from the time she'd accidentally gotten an entire stack of important documentation wet after a route by leaving it near an open window after it started raining, then lied about the whole thing and turned in a very less detailed report the following day. Week. Time sure flies.

By default she fell, realizing she should and half over her own feet as the wolf-man, mid-transformed and slobbering, tumbled above her. She swore, doubling over into pitch dark, streetlights flickering far away, fighting the sweet stench of souls reaching out to be helped, avenged.

The touch across her forehead first of all shouldn't have been cold, soft, yet stern and without sharp claws.

Whatever. She'd take it anyway.

Heavy music pounded mutely through the floor and the room smelt of cleanliness and strong salt. Matsumoto nearly fell from the soft leather couch onto an equally soft carpeted floor. Shades revealed the night, drawn back and tied in neat bows, the material blending with the cool walls and muted furnishings. The ceiling stretched many feet over her head, clutching a low-hanging unlit chandelier glittering in the winking city lights flowing breezily through the windows. The room was a little warm.

A rustle, and a shadow detached itself from the far wall.

"Where am I?" she demanded foolishly, jumping at the same moment.

"Ya normally nap on the job?"

Forehead between her fingers and eyes shut tight, she mumbled, "I wasn't supposed to. What time is it?"

"Quarter past ten. Ya gonna be in trouble wit' th' boss?"

He almost sounded daring, like he wanted her to say yes. Shaking her head, she waved a hand. "No, it's not too late. I guess the problem in the northeastern corner is taken care of?" she added skeptically, confirmed by a smile.

"It's dangerous havin' one o' 'em runnin' round loose."

Matsumoto tried to force awkwardness into the silence, eyeing his shadowed form, smile, and dark slit eyes, searching for something to turn the moment from melting ease to escape route. When alone, Gin's taste on her tongue wasn't harsh like eating a spoonful of table salt, but much like sea salt with a hint of the ocean still texturing the flavorful spice. The crawling skin and tingling hardly passed as unpleasantly gross and suppressing. Nothing like any of his kind she'd ever come across.

"Well," she clapped her hands together, standing swiftly enough for the world to whirl. Gin didn't move. "It's about time to see what's to see down there. Don't want to _really_ upset the boss, right?"

Like clockwork, she predicted him. Walk past and he won't follow at first, just slowly tilt his head and stare with a broad smile tweaking his lips. How she understood so freakishly well Matsumoto wouldn't care to explain or know. Of course, she'd read the entries concerning him in the official statement log multiple times, fascinated while scared at her own interest. Even so, the entries were hardly detailed enough to mention his slighter quirks such as silently eyeballing someone as they left a room.

While telling herself to go about business as usual as the night could now, Matsumoto stepped into a darkened room. Faceless window frames and another furiously tall ceiling greeted her, but the pair of eyes that blinked alive across the way caught her attention. A startling jade, they stared without intensity or emotion, yet scrutiny lashed over her nerves as a distasteful wave of salt burned her throat. Whoever leaned forward, splashes of light spilling over chalky features, shadowing thinly between the eyes.

"Who are you?" he asked in a deep, mellow yet hostile tone.

"She's wit' me," Gin announced, slipping strong arms around her waist.

A hint of surprise flicked over the pale face. "I hadn't seen you bring anyone inside." An unspoken question buzzed through the air.

"Nah, Aizen don't know, but he won't mind much if I got her here. She was jus' restin' a bit. Rough night."

The suggestion in Gin's last statement, stirred with his cold breath across her cheek, slammed Matsumoto like a semi.

Unperturbed by her sudden tenseness, he continued, "If ya want, we c'n ask Aizen himself when he gets back soon 'nough. Would ya wanna do that, Ulquiorra?"

A slightly pause. "Unnecessary. I was not aware she was under surveillance." Standing, without any further acknowledgement, Ulquiorra streamed from the room, hands tucked nonchalantly in his pockets. What Matsumoto had taken for shadows splitting his stony face was, in fact, the blackest ink hair she'd ever seen. What a contrast, black on such a white face.

Speaking of contrast, she debated her next move to exit Gin's friendly hold and wondered wistfully if any effort would matter. The familiarity seeping from his pores mingled with her knowledge that they'd met briefly only once before. He was silent escort, she had her butt saved. The month's _had_ seemed to drag more than usual, more boring, and she'd never quite had the urge to return home so quickly that each city she traipsed, each sidewalk she owned, every person she came across all kept pushing her own town to the forefront. And for no _apparent_ reason, that's what got to her. She'd even considered requesting a permanent station, which added frightfully more paperwork and hours to her already long workday. She just didn't want to _leave_.

Gin was speaking when she finally returned from her thoughts, his arms gone—which she absently missed—and an all-too knowing smirk. "C'mon," he beckoned. "'less ya know th' way already."

Matsumoto frowned. Why would she already—oh. Actually, the next room, white and bright, vaguely resembled a place she'd swear was in a dream-like, faraway memory. Her guess at which door they would take was correct, and finding Ulquiorra straight backed in a chair with a wide volume of a microscopic-print book hardly surprised her. His paleness was no trick of shadows and odd lighting; for a vampire even he appeared almost sickly. Where his skin ended and the crisp white button-up began was hard to tell. When those vibrantly colored eyes shifted, however, one quickly noted nothing wrong, save maybe the creepy blandness accented by down turned lips. And his hair, shoulder length and mussed in a controlled way, screamed against his skin and made his already clear eyes explode like green fire. He gave them an uninterested glance and returned to his reading.

Mapping the halls and turns in her mind, Matsumoto found, oddly enough and quite frighteningly, the proverbial touch in each simple decoration, each step she took, and the sounds buzzing from a predicted set of rooms. A metallic crash clanged behind a heavyset door, followed by strenuous sirens and a very agitated curse.

Gin never spoke a word, and she hardly noticed, but he slipped behind her at some point, allowing her to direct their advance though the secluded and secretive upper stories of the expensive and high-end club, Los Noches, own exclusively by Aizen as he'd prided himself to Matsumoto. Automatically she took a right, descended a spiraling staircase, and pushed open the right-hand door, spilling them into a yawning foyer sprinkled with white, plush couches, armchairs and sparkling glass coffee tables. Boisterous male laughter echoed in the otherwise silent room untouched by the thundering music downstairs.

A long, blacked haired man, hardly a vampire, turned immediately, a leer already spreading his lips. The eye not covered by a patch devoured Matsumoto, running the length of her body and back twice before Gin slid into view, hovering over her shoulder. The man hauntingly turned away, disappointed clearly, muttering something to a companion on the floor.

Even with only one vampire present, Gin's aura nearly consumed the Were's sweet scent, though not unpleasantly she admitted. A ghost, silent and weary, hovered blandly in the corner having followed the perpetrator of his murder too long. The image of a man was blurry and highly transparent, nearly dissipated. Matsumoto, had she the chance to speak with the spirit, wouldn't have held an intelligent conversation with him. He was too far gone, and needed desperately to move on.

When they crossed into view, a lounging dark-haired man snored lightly on a couch, but peeked a lazy eye open for the newcomers. Another leaned against a chair from the floor with wild blue hair. Loose strands hung above matching eyes silted like a cat's around a sharp, harshly handsome face. Between his raised knees sat an equally striking but much softer woman, long sea-foamy hair blanketing her shoulders. The interest in her green eyes was mild compared to the amused sneer on her close companion's lips.

"What the fucking hell—?" he demanded, jerking when long fingers roughly pinched his side. "Woman, do that again and I swear—"

"You may get away with that sometimes around me, but not with another lady present," she answered crisply through the serenity of her voice.

He growled when the patched sleazebag sniggered. "Fine. What's that Seeker doin' here, Ichimaru?" He flashed a sarcastic questioning glare for approval. The woman instead yanked his ear close, whispering something that stretched a wicked grin lighting his entire face. He guffawed loudly, tossing his head back. "Holy shit! I can see it!" Another laugh. "Hey, taste anything extra sweet, Seeker, cause it's probably me! You'd take that over salty any day of the week I hear!"

His laughter chased Matsumoto down the next hall, a silent, largely grinning yet tight-lipped Gin stepping closely behind.

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Ah, Grimmjow, you obstinate kitty you.

I've decided to keep the chapters relatively short, which is why I cut it off where I did. Also, updates for the most part won't be so close together. I kinda surprised myself by finishing this when I did. Well, as always, reviews are appreciated.


	3. Chapter 3

My no own Bleach! Kubo do.

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"Sometimes," Matsumoto muttered to herself while waiting at the far end of a dead-end hall, the curiosity spiking across the upper floors of the club drawing an audience in the other room, "I really hate my job."

Gin had stopped her short moments ago by clasping her wrist. "Wait here jus' a moment," he asked. She complied, if not out of obedience then not wanting to follow the familiar trail down a couple more stairs, through a very broad set of heavy doors she wouldn't be able to open without his help, and into the screaming partiers below. Seeing as she didn't want to remember that, she settled on just avoiding anyone else.

"Hello." So much for that bit.

Matsumoto nearly jumped at the slicked voice and curved yellow eyes. She gagged at the sudden salt pillar lodging behind her tongue, which he seemed to enjoy, smiling for all his worth a smile that made Gin's smirk seem friendly and cute.

"My apologies, Seeker. I didn't mean to startle you." His tone, not only his presence, sickened her, deafened her abilities. He chuckled and left, long dark hair whisking across her arm.

Holy…she needed a drink, a strong one, and a shower, bath, a hot springs sounded better. Maybe a pot of boiling water, something to get rid of the disgusting slime itching her entire body.

Gin reappeared, slightly unhappy, and she grabbed his black blazer. "I need a drink," she rasped, sounding like she'd actually drowned in salt. His smile dampened. Unsuccessfully she tried to swallow a cough, doubled over from the effort, ready to possibly hack her lungs out or heave her nauseated stomach when instead her back slammed near unpleasantly rough against the wall. Eyes wide, she found Gin's mouth sliding across hers, feverishly smooth, the bulge of fangs pressing against her lips as he tasted her bottom lip agonizingly slow. Whatever aftertaste that vampire she didn't recognize or remember for that matter vanished as Gin's sea-salt spice ghosted through her, sinking into her pores, and filling her throat with memories of the sea.

When Matsumoto surfaced from her beach-like heaven—heaven might be a press, but she didn't find too much argument at the moment—gleaming rubies amusingly stared extraordinarily close. His fingers fiddled with a lock of her hair, other hand placed against the wall next to her head.

"Aren't your eyes green?" she asked, slightly breathless and running her tongue across her lips to catch the lingering taste. It always did amaze her how much the spiritual world was so real to her, right down to ordinarily nonexistent favors of certain beings. He watched the movement with eerily enjoyable concentration.

"Sometimes," he smirked, leaning back from her. "Ya wanted a drink?"

"Um, yes." Matsumoto shook her swimming head. "Lead the way," she urged, her smile fake, urging him forward with the sweep of an arm.

"Ya don't know th' way?"

"I'm not _supposed_ to know the way," she snapped, immediately afterward biting the inside of her cheek. Her scowl didn't waver, not as his smile faltered into a confused upturn of the lips, or when he cocked his head to the side, hair shifting to that side of his face and genuine curiosity in his ruby red eyes. Everything, down to the two studs in his now prominent earlobe, just screamed…

Matsumoto resisted licking her lips again. "Never mind. You know, it's not that important! And I do want a drink. Let's go."

She took off with Gin at her heels watching the usually smooth-talking, provocative woman fidget and stumble over herself in agitation. She maneuvered the halls with an expertise that rivaled her earlier second guesses and cautiously curious glances.

Halting before the door, Matsumoto turned around when he didn't make a move forward. "Well? Are you going to open them? I can't do it myself."

A thin smile split Gin's face as he swiftly stepped forward, nearly ripping the doors from their massive hinges.

Brow raised, she appraised his work and gave him a look. "You didn't have to kill it."

His mask hardened, and through his stiff muscles he smoothly ushered her into the ballroom dance club floor.

Underdressed again, she dully noted. Dresses, evening gowns, suits and ties. Bow ties on some of them. How lovely. One glance at Gin set her at ease. He wasn't dressed for the party either. Not in a swirling black blazer, light grey button-up with the top two buttons undone again. In fact, his wardrobe was slacking even more than it had the last time.

Well. Didn't she just fit right in with this crowd, blue jeans and all?

Sighing, Matsumoto made her way through the crowd. Gin disappeared, but was close enough—not to mention powerful enough—to pierce the wafting scents of all the other creatures romping around the dance floor, sitting or lounging across couches and chairs and tables. And, damn it, the bar area was full, not a seat empty.

Gin gripped her wrist and placed a hand to the small of her back. "Need a seat?"

To the far corner, underneath a balcony overlooking the dance floor, he steered her, both sitting at the internally lit bar in plush, swiveling seats. Matsumoto twisted side to side as she waited for the tender to return with her glass.

"You aren't getting anything?" she asked him.

His eye blinked further open for a moment. She couldn't tell its color. Gin rested his chin in his hand. "Nah."

"So what? You're going to watch me drink?"

"Guess so."

The tender's hand flashed in her peripheral vision, setting her tall order down without a clank. A bottle he set next to it, and walked away without a word of payment.

"Last time it was pay-per-drink." Matsumoto muttered, leaning over the bar to catch the tender's attention.

"On th' house," Gin said, shrugging.

"Really? Oh, how sweet!" she cooed sarcastically, downing half her glass in a few gulps. "Ugh."

"What?" He leaned forward a bit. "It ain't any good? I c'n get ya 'nother one."

Matsumoto waved her hand, feeling more drunk without the actual buzz then she ever had, even when totally smashed. Those college days made her laugh at times…

Shaking her head only made the world spin, and she would have fallen had Gin not caught her deftly.

"Oh, that was a doozy," she slurred giddily. Her muscles quivered under his cool palms, her skin already hot through her clothes. Sweat gleamed on her brow, down her neck as she slumped over, hiccupping and gagging at once. Shocked, Gin's wide blood red eyes stared dumbly as Matsumoto convulsed in his arms, something akin to a horribly childish sob bubbling from her trembling blue lips.

"Gin," Tousen said, standing over the crowd-calling pair. The smile Gin gave him was more of a sneer, blatantly showing the tips of his fangs knowing the other vampire couldn't see the challenge. Tousen shifted on his feet anyway, somehow sensing the threat someway. "This is disturbing-"

"You're joking," Gin said, deathly serious.

Grimmjow, irritated and bored, looked over Tousen's shoulder, muttering, "Shit."

"Bring her," Tousen motioned. Sighing, Grimmjow stepped to do as he was told, but Gin refused silently, glaring, lacking a smile of any kind. The werepanther sidestepped the furious vampire, stuffing his hands in his pockets and whistling.

"Fucking hell," He glanced at Tousen as Gin walked away. The werepanther shrugged, uncomfortably irate under the blank stare. "What? He'll cut off more than just my fucking arm." For emphasis, Grimmjow flexed his freshly regrown arm, absently flipping the blind vampire the bird before sauntering off.

(())

Not for the first time Matsumoto woke in a strange room with a headache. The burning down her throat was new, something like indigestion, but a constant fire. The salt added to that certainly didn't make anything better.

Aizen hovered over her, almost bored-looking but keen. He smiled. "Awake now, are we? You had a bit of a misfortune at the bar. Do you remember anything?"

She smacked her forehead, rubbing forcefully. "Something about my boss firing me or something, but that was more than five hours ago…"

"Possibly more than you think," he sighed calmly, taking a seat in a white chair.

"Where's Gin?"

"Why don't you tell me where he is?"

She opened an ashen eye, chocking on a laugh. "A guessing game?"

"Not necessarily." Aizen leaned forward. His selves were rolled up, his pristine suit jacket behind him. "Just take a look around you and tell me where he is."

Wherever he was, Gin was close enough for her to feel his irritation rolling off him in waves, sea-salty waves. She stared at Aizen a little longer, wondering if he'd call his own bluff, laugh in his menacing way, and leave. But he didn't. He took a sip from a goblet—oh man, a goblet? Really?—its contents she'd rather not know.

"Alright, what are the rules?" she mocked.

"No rules."

"Do I have to play?"

"Haven't you already consented?"

"Not really, no. I was just curious. What exactly was in the drink I had?"

"I'm having that looked into."

"Good good," she nodded, attention drawn to a curtain hanging closed over the window across the room. She frowned. It was ripped, top to bottom, in half on one side, leaving a wide gap open to the city outside. "Can…can you call Gin in here?"

Sipping, his dark eyes glinting, he asked, "Why? Is something wrong?"

Matsumoto shook her head slowly, transfixed on the fringed curtain. "I don't… What tore that?"

"Hm? Oh, the curtain? I need to have that fixed. It seems to always slip my mind."

"What happened in here?"

"Why don't you tell me?"

Slamming her palms on the short table before her, Matsumoto leaned forward, snarling, "The joke's old, pal."

"Well, I see no reason for me to explain when you were here when it happened."

"I was here-?" Eyes wide, a memory, blurry, flashed of a dark night, howling in the distance, and herself dressed differently, so ridiculously out of date that it made her head spin. Gin appeared beside her, something leapt between them, through the window, taking half the curtain with it and her. Matsumoto found herself gripping the tear right below a faded, hard bloodstain.

Aizen smiled, quietly stepping from the room.

She screamed when the door shut, sounding so much louder, like it was kicked in, like her memory played. "_Gin_!"

This time the doors did rip from their hinges.

(())

Barely thirteen. He was barely thirteen, yet here he stood before the council, dressed in a tailored black suit, partially out of business reasons, mostly out of mourning.

A man, one of the forty-some consisting of the financial, foreign, and other miscellaneous directors, droned on and on about law statements, requirements, and more business, business, business, only briefly brushing through the sudden passing of Ukitake Juushirou not twenty-four hours ago.

Killed by a terrible cough, inevitable surely, the doctors had stated. Still the man's death had not been so close on the horizon in his latest checkup. His death had been extremely violent, and Hitsugaya's first order would be to have his new office transferred to another floor of the building, and every piece of furniture touched with Ukitake's blood removed.

The funeral was set; the body was to burn, as was custom of the chief executives in this line of work.

Without heirs, Ukitake's line ended with him. Without family, Hitsugaya's small, growing hand held the entire franchise, with aid from a selected board of advisors for the next ten or so years. He had the freedom of choosing half of those who would stay close to him for that time. None from this group would he freely choose, though he understood that the half of which he had no selection control would derive from these stern men and women.

Young but distantly cold eyes appraised each board member, marking faces with as much a hint of a nature he deemed mistrustful, and vowed to give those with dark glints deep in their eyes a quick dismissal the moment his name found its place on the long list of executives legally, when the company fully rested on his shoulders. For now all he could do was wait and not let the temporary legs and arms of his corporal presidency get away from him.

Hitsugaya Toushirou squared his small shoulders and faced the situation like the man he wasn't supposed to be yet.

When the meeting adjourned, he escaped quickly under the scrutiny of the none-moving forty-six seated Board of Directors, who all grimly began discussing the unexpected death of their head soul, the too-soon-instated soul, and the allover cycle shift in Sector Ten of Paranormal Thirteen, Inc. The instigator was to be found immediately before anything else fell out of hand.

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First of all, was I the only one who totally freaked over Bleach chapter 329? 8D For any who have not read: _shame_!

Secondly, did I not tell ya that the updates wouldn't be so soon? I tried, really, and I will continue to try, but schoolwork sadly does have to have a higher rank on the list of priorities. So, yay for Fall Break and time to sit down and write more than three lines without falling asleep on the keyboard!

Lastly, seeing as the hour is slightly late and I really wanted to get this updated, if there are any mistakes feel free to drop a note. The fault is all on me since I beta my own work anyway.

Last lastly, thankies bunchies!


	4. Chapter 4

Bleach not mine.

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Gin remembered her moods. This particular one even he feared to a point, seeing as he trailed behind her angry footfalls, crossing ground he'd teasingly made her follow before.

Down the hall, to the right, the spiraling staircase out into the wide room where they'd previously run into Nnitora, Grimmjow, and Nell.

Rangiku stopped just inside the doors, Gin catching himself up short to not bump into her.

Then again, her being angry at someone other than him was rather entertaining. The slight pinch between her brows, the tight square of her shoulders. He smiled as she made her way across the empty chamber.

"Who ya lookin' fer?" he asked lightly.

She cut him a glance. "A familiar face."

Contrary to the display of panic that she'd yet to explain to Gin, the woman had a secret mission set on kill instead of stun. He almost chuckled at the prospect that, for once in his lifetime, it wasn't him on the receiving end.

"What, ya aren't gonna tell me?"

"You should already know."

He almost missed a step, his smile blinking into a fierce, red-eyed frown. "Know what?"

"What happened at that window." She shivered visibly.

Gin knew. Gin knew everything, remembered every second in slow, meticulous detail just like every other time. On the bridge in the dead of winter and how cold the water was and how blue her lips were, the bloody car accident, the war, everything ran blurry in a long string of memories throughout the vampire's existence. Knowing he couldn't change it gripped him tighter, becoming more and more unbearable throughout the decades.

The large doors opened as they approached, halting both of them as raucous laughter burst from behind them. Rangiku balled a fist; Gin watched, lifting a brow but creating a smirk as Grimmjow came first through the doors.

"Whoa," he exclaimed when a delicate-looking hand fisted his open shirt. His eyes slit like a feline, but Gin's close proximity kept any further shifting in check. Instead, he glared, cursing. "What the hell do you want, Seeker?"

"It was you," she snarled, surprising Gin and Grimmjow alike. "You threw me out that window."

Hands up, the werepanther glanced between Gin and Rangiku and to Nell when the woman finally caught up with him. She, however, only crossed her arms.

"Are you supposed to remember that?" he asked dumbly.

"What matters is the fact that I do remember _you_ tossing me out one of the higher story windows."

Grimmjow snorted. "Get your story straight. I went with you out that damned window." He smirked. "By the way, thanks for breaking my fall."

The werepanther found himself in the grips of much more powerful hands, on his back with a viciously snarling vampire pressing a knee deep into his sternum, knocking the air from his lungs. "Ichimaru," he spat as his face contorted, hair growing in short ripples a dark blue then black as his hands, sprouted claws, likewise latched into the vampire's clothing.

Gin disappeared. Grimmjow, half changed, leapt to his feet, growling, and stared sharply into the deep brown eyes of Aizen.

"It seems things got a little out of hand, Gin," he remarked.

The vampire refrained from commenting, hovering in front of a sullen Rangiku.

"Leave," Aizen commanded. Nell placed a hand on Grimmjow's furry chest after bowing slightly in respect, and pushed the tense half-cat from the room. To Gin, "Escort Matsumoto out. I'll be in my office." He flicked her a slightly apologetic look and calmly glared at Gin in the same blink, turning to make his exit through a door she hadn't noticed before.

Rangiku slipped her hand to Gin's arm. He glanced into her weary ash-eyes, glad to see no fear in them, though he never expected that in the first place. She actually smiled a little, snorting a short laugh that quirked his own tight mouth. Gin lifted a hand, slowly sifted fingers through her hair, and brought her forward to rest against his chest. Immediately the strange sense of comfort and ease ebbed through her veins, and the old scent of the sea closed her eyes. His even breathing, loose muscles, and feather-light touch deceived the murder warming his bloody gaze.

(())

For what Gin silently promised himself would be the last time, he watched her walk away from him, down the street, taking a left to the bus stop. She'd refused his offer to walk her home again. Not that he thought she'd say differently. Besides, Aizen was expecting him and he'd asked not only to get on Rangiku's nerves again, see if she really was alright enough for him to not ignore her protests, but in hopes she maybe would change her mind so he'd have an excuse to not visit the ridiculously large office.

Ah, well. Time to get it over with.

In a minute.

Gin sauntered over to the bar, meandering over the faces of each tender, searching for the one who'd given Rangiku the bad order. The man wasn't there. Either he high-tailed it a while ago or Aizen disposed of his dirty hands, as custom. It left a more difficult trail, says he, for officials who had no business nosing around from finding any leftovers from Aizen's table. So far the system worked well, seeing as Aizen had the tendency to trifle through society's worst to terrify into hiring and using. No body missed them. As he recalled correctly, it was the exact same means that the vampire had come across Gin the dying little street urchin, then raised him into adulthood before promptly turning him. Spawned from Aizen's own fangs was right, as people speculated for years and years, but in more ways than the one everybody knew. Aizen not only gave Gin the knowledge during his growing years and authority, but the power needed as well. For that alone Gin held Aizen in such high regard, respected the elder vampire even as Gin himself grew old, and followed him like the proud son of a father.

Until she arrived.

Bored with all the regulars of the early morning crowd, Gin pushed from the bar and made his way to the back of the ballroom but stopped at the darkened door, turning straight to the boy he'd only seen a handful of times. The vampire was young in their aspects, but strong if rumors held true. Of course, Gin had that tidbit ghosted directly from Aizen, who seldom had meetings with the young vampire's coven leader, so that much was right.

Grinning broadly, Gin met eyes so black they bounced with each light that flashed across the stoic, bored face. Not even getting caught fazed the boy, and after a moment's more silent contest, the boy slowly looked away. He stood, no longer needing to hang around—to bad, Gin thought. He wouldn't have minded trying to rile the young blood into a fight—and drifted through the crowd, not calling any attention, bumping anyone, nothing. Gin's grin widened, but he let him go, thinking maybe the chance would rise again.

Grimmjow passed Gin in the narrow hall to Aizen's office, missing an arm again. The vampire moved aside, grinningly motioning for the werepanther to pass. Grimmjow kept his mouth locked and any gestures to himself until, out of sight, Nnitora's obnoxious laughter echoed, and the panther's snarl soon followed.

Grimmjow'd have the appendage back in a couple days. He'd have to stay in his room transformed into his panther form while he regenerated in his sleep. Nell would wait for him in the last couple hours before Grimmjow woke, then try to thrash some sense into his thick, blue skull. It was a process they'd been though many, many times, and Gin often wondered when Nell would grow tired of it, and either leave Grimmjow or kill him out of pity. Gin personality preferred the latter, but knew he'd keep on dreaming. The woman had an odd attachment to Grimmjow that he couldn't understand, but stopped complaining about long ago. Stupid or not, Grimmjow _had_ his woman.

Pressing the door open, Gin slipped inside Aizen's dark office, lightened at the far end with scattered dim lights that made seeing difficult for those with less than supernatural senses. Something akin to a throne stood on a raised platform in the pool of semi-yellow light. There Aizen's large, cherry wood desk sat, decorated with neat stacks of paperwork, legal forms for formality, and one or two knick-knacks to make the wary visitor slightly more comfortable while standing before such a legendary and dangerous vampire lord. A slender, very expensive laptop embedded in the desk to the side sat open, it's back toward Gin, and the screen's glow reflected off the empty, tall, broad, black leather chair serving the otherworldly lord as his executive throne.

To his right, in the darkness, was the long table in which Aizen held consecutive meetings with his heads of staff, dinners, and parties too classy to be held in the lower floors. On the opposite end of the white—when fully lit—room were white leather couches, chairs, and diamond-embedded crystal tables where the fancy party-goers could cross over the unlit black strip in the middle hiding Aizen's desk to lounge, chat, and have tea after meals.

Gin sometimes attended those, but normally did not as he was not nearly as smooth-talking as Aizen, and, depending on the crowd, was sometimes seen as more frightening than Aizen, or Tousen, who did make an appearance at each one. Gin wasn't necessarily the party type; not unless there was at least some alcohol involved. People were sometimes more fun when drunk. It didn't bother him a bit if Aizen ever blatantly told him he was not to be seen during one; it left Gin it his own devices without any quick, if any, repercussions.

For the most part anyway, Gin got away with anything.

He pressed his hands into his jean pockets, grinning. "Hidin' ag'in?"

"Of course not," Aizen drawled easily from Gin's side, reaching behind the unmoving vampire for the door that clicked shut. "Come, Gin."

Gin made a quick face as he followed behind him. "I do somethin'?"

"No, of course not," Aizen repeated, same tone. Gin pouted a bit, sizing Aizen's mood. "You wanted to know about your little Seeker?"

Right on the money. Gin grinned tightly.

"Ah," Aizen smiled. "At times you make yourself readable, Gin."

"Need ta work on that one. I was jus' wonderin' 'bout the lil problem."

"It's nothing to worry about. Probably just accumulated years," the older vampire assured him. He became slightly more serious, though his internal amusement never ceased. "I told you to leave her memories alone. To not have her remember anything, but you insist on these games that clearly threaten her."

"I done it before," Gin protested lightly. "Never made her 'member so much."

"So much?" Concern filtered into Aizen's voice. "What exactly did she remember?"

"Her last death."

Aizen clucked his tongue, smiling coldly over his shoulder. "Too much could harm her. Have you noticed the inconsistency concerning that over the years? You're meddling where you shouldn't, and if it brings the Thirteen, Inc. officials to my doorstep, I will not be pleased."

Gin frowned, step for step following Aizen down the hall. "If she 'members too much?"

Aizen shrugged offhandedly. "It doesn't really matter. All I know it that they are extremely particular over their employees. Don't mess with them any further, Gin. Or as little as possible," he added with a light chuckle.

Pausing for the briefest second, Gin smiled again, tossing a dark glimmer of amusement right back at the brunette. "Sure thing."


	5. Chapter 5

Bleach isn't mine.

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With a long sigh, Rangiku settled on the couch in her new boss' office, closing her eyes for just a moment, but found herself waking to the oversized tyke's irritated voice.

"Matsumoto, why are you sleeping in my office?"

She sat up, glancing across the way at the desk that dwarfed the poor boy even more. The open books were undoubtedly homework, but the strategic placement of each and the papers made it appear official. The scowl certainly helped to that effect. Toushiro looked more and more like an older man; the child that was once in his young eyes had diminished in the time Rangiku had been away on the usual patrol.

Ukitake's sudden death had her shaken, as well the whole company. The departments muttered in disbelief when Hitsugaya Toushiro was instated as the heir and practically in charge, to the forefront. Of course, his background people ran his scene for the time being.

He glared between her and his work, occasionally reaching to lightly tug the collar of his traditional black suit and clip-on tie, wearing a black button-up, probably silk. Black black black.

Rangiku wasn't sure which she disliked more: all the black or the sea of white she'd apparently become somehow attached to overnight.

Or was it…?

"I had a long night," she answered easily.

"It's weird having you on my couch," he muttered into his history book as she noted when standing by his side, hovering over a small shoulder. "What are you doing now?"

"Oh, my you're so touchy! How cute!"

Toushiro growled. "I'm not cute!"

"Whatever you say, Captain."

"You bet it's whatever I say. As your—what did you call me?"

"Captain. Why?"

Shocked, he stared at her sitting on the edge of his desk, glancing over a sheet of his homework. "I'm your boss, not your captain!"

Putting the sheet down, she quickly ruffled his head. "You're too young and adorable to be 'boss' or even 'mister'. So, captain it is for now!"

He fought her dignity-killing hand. "Out! Get out of my office!"

"But I was waiting for you, Captain. I have my report to file."

"Go talk to one of my shadows. I can't deal with any of that until I'm fifteen," Toushiro grumbled, digging into his work with new fervor.

"No reports?" she gasped in delight.

"That doesn't mean you don't have to _do_ them. Just talk to someone else about it."

Rangiku sat on the couch again. "Fine, who'd you appoint for that?"

He shrugged. "I didn't get much say in anything. Later today or tomorrow they're supposed to let me know."

She grimaced. "Ouch."

"Yeah, ouch."

The clock ticked the silence before he glanced up.

"Why are you still here?"

The door opened, four older gentlemen Rangiku knew were from the Board filed inside.

"Toushiro, we did inform you that this was to be a private meeting," one grey-beard indicated to Matsumoto. She began to stand when authority sprang from somewhere in the boy.

"She's fine where she is."

Matsumoto glanced between the men, then to Toushiro, seeing the slightest measure of pleading in his oddly adult half-scowl.

"Oh, well," she huffed, settling again, crossing her arms. "Captain's orders."

As the four stiff-necks coped with the declaration, she caught the thankfulness in Toushiro's facial features, how the hardening lines softened slightly, and the furrow in his worried brow lifted slightly. She winked at him with an encouraging smile, not forgetting that the mini executive wasn't just small in stature, but still young.

Plus it was a little funny when he blushed a bit under all that ice.

"Very well," the same spokesman cleared his throat. "The Temporary Timetable Board for Executive has yet to complete its assigning of members to specific categories…"

Rangiku rolled her eyes. What a mouthful of a name for a group of people temporarily getting a pay raise just to run around underneath Toushiro for the next few years.

"Here is the list of Timetable members, all selected for their experience and expertise, I assure you." Ironically, this was handed to the boy by the youngest Board member.

Sharp eyes scanned the page, flipped it, and glance at them. "Most of these I've never even seen before. Wheat happened to the people I placed for recommendation?"

What speech! Rangiku was impressed, and wondered briefly just what all the old codgers were for in the first place. The boy was smart, very smart. And had extremely neat handwriting, as she'd observed from his well-written history paper.

"Most didn't fit the criteria," grey-bread explained, waving a wrinkled hand. "Which is understandable. You've only been with us for a short while, and don't know near enough—"

"I _know_ enough to see which people will successfully complete the tasks I give them the precise way in which I ask them."

Oh. Rangiku grinned then. They needed a good punch below the belt. She liked this kid.

"But, Toushiro," he began, stepping forward and addressing Toushiro as he would a child. Well any ordinary child. This one was damn special if anyone asked her.

Immediately, Toushiro stood, calm, collected, but his eyes boiled like furnaces. Carefully controlled furnaces. He looked the much older man straight in the eye, unflinching, unwavering, and unbelievably executive. "I may _be_ somewhat of a figurehead to the public but that doesn't change the fact that this company is _mine_. I would appreciate being addressed _and_ treated as such. To my knowledge, I would never have been considered had I not the capability. I may be young, have plenty to learn, but this is engraved in my blood, as much a part of my soul as it was to my Uncle." He reached the stapled paper back to the man, who took it slowly. "Now, _reconsider_ my half of the Timetable board, as I was told I would have half of the staff chosen by myself." Toushiro settled in his large chair. "Anything else?"

Grey-beard stumbled slightly, but gathered his scattered wits quickly. "Yes," he said unhappily. "There is an occasion tonight commemorating Ukitake Juushirou and celebrating your inauguration into the business."

"When and where?" Toushiro asked, already back into his work.

The gentleman looked up, peeved, but addressed his boss accordingly. "In a number of hours seeing as it is afternoon still, and these occasions can last well into the morning hours."

"I'll leave early," he shrugged.

"As you need to. Everything will be arranged for you by myself."

"No. Have someone else do it. Someone from my list as their first job in their new position." The boy smiled a bit crookedly and devilish. "You get ready for the party because you're coming too. I want a recap of the entire evening after I leave, which will be on my desk waiting for me before lunch break tomorrow."

A bit harder, the man relented. "As you say, _sir_. Would you prefer a summary or a full report?"

"Both will be fine."

"I see. Will there be anything else?"

"Where is this party?"

"Aizen Sousuke hosts a number of these at any one of his establishments throughout the year. This one happens to be for us."

"Aizen?" Toushiro glanced up when Rangiku snapped from a wayward daydream. "The vampire lord?"

"Yes."

"They aren't dealt with in this corporation. That's for the mercenaries and trained Hunters."

"Of course. It's why we are in much higher regards with the vampires. Aizen has been hospitable in the past. He even celebrated for Ukitake when he first took over as a young man. Older than yourself by far."

"Noted," Toushiro growled, tapping his pen on the corner of the desk. "Alright, fine. We'll see what this Aizen Sousuke wants. Make sure whoever needs to know knows that I'll be leaving very early. I do have school to attend in the morning."

"Consider it done."

"One more thing," Toushiro stopped them all, and pointed at a surprised Rangiku. "Make sure she's added to the guest list, if there is one."

(())

"Stop pouting," Toushiro snapped. "You were the only one in the room I trusted at the time. And I know they'd go behind my back and find someone else if I'd asked."

"Then fire them," Rangiku huffed. Her foot bounced absently in the back of the armored stretch limousine, chic and shiny black.

"I can't," he said angrily. "Yet. You would've ended up here anyway had I not given you the night off."

"I'll still be working," she replied in a sing-song tone.

He worked his jaw, then glared out the heavily tinted window.

"This is what I want," he began after a moment. "Any were-creature with a ghost—"

"You forget, Captain, that we're on peaceful terms tonight. Anyone busted is going to cause a ruckus you don't want to have to handle."

"So, we just let them go?"

"That's the idea." Rangiku still hardly enjoyed it. Advantageous Weres were very irritating, traipsing about after a meal in full sight knowing that the Seekers couldn't do a damn thing about it.

"Whose idea was that?" Toushiro demanded.

She shrugged. "It's been sort of a rule as long as I've been here. But, this is also my first official shindig at Las Noches."

"Fine. Then memorize faces, as many as you can. Things are going to be a bit different with me in charge," he vowed. Rangiku didn't doubt it. "And no drinking."

"What?" she exclaimed. "I even drink—"

He glared as she quickly looked away, tapping a finger against her chin.

"This is too important for you to get wasted. I want to get a feel for this Aizen Sousuke and whoever else he has working for him. You're the one who's been here the most, so it's also convenient to have you along. It's about time someone put the criminals in their place."

A bit surprised, but then again not, she watched the determination build in his eyes. "That's going to be a hard job."

"I've got time."

Whatever Toushiro had in store, Rangiku was sure she'd back him all the way.

When Las Noches climbed into view around the bend, its lights flashing as usual, crowds of people milling about in front, a slight brush of alarm fluttered in Rangiku's stomach. It passed without further incident, even as they pulled up, exited the car, and made their way into the building. Media flashed and babbled around them with staring cameras in their faces and microphones shoved under their noses. Rangiku fairly quickly had some of them backing away from the small form of her captain-boss sporting the traditional all black suit and covered in a long white trench coat. Toushiro walked proudly through the throngs of adults, keeping the wiser media at a further distance. But the camera flashes never ceased.

At the door, in all his self-glory, waited Aizen himself. He extended a friendly hand to Toushiro first, and greeted each of the five members of guard, Grey-beard from earlier that day. To Rangiku he merely smiled.

"It's a pleasure having you," he was answering to whatever Toushiro had said, clearly amused at the boy's own stature and carry. "Welcome to Las Noches, by far the most notorious of my many establishments. I've made this my personal home as well, which is where our own little party is being held. If you would follow me."

"So, is this the only area that's public?" Toushiro asked, keeping stride with the taller man easily. His scrutiny of the odd mixture of eras amused Aizen all the more. The vampire smiled as Tousen materialized from the crowd, taking steps to keep just behind his lord. Rangiku's heart skipped a beat, out of fear or anticipation she couldn't be sure.

"Of course. The crowds are hardly allowed in the upper stories, except those of exceptional importance."

Aizen noted the flattery held no effect, and smoothly continued on to explain the concept of extending to the modern people a little taste of a time which he pronounced as his favorite in history, hence the ballroom setting and formalwear mandates against the foremost room décor of strobe lights, large speakers, and state-of-the-art DJ system in the farthest corner. The bar against the northern wall, underneath a non-public balcony, had only the finest assortment of liquors at a somewhat cheaper price, all of which appealed to many younger folk.

They took a door unfamiliar to Rangiku, and ended up soon inside a wide room she still did not recognize. A dark strip down the center marked the dinning and lounging areas. Everything was white, table cloth, candles, the roses floating in water-filled bowls clear as crystal. It was all very nice, very clean. Very much where Rangiku did not want to be. She fleetingly looked the faces over, not finding anyone in particular, and returned to the conversation at hand between Aizen, Grey-beard, and Toushiro who monitored the exchange. Obviously the boy was told not to speak since heavy business peppered the discussion.

"All of this really is much," Grey-beard was saying, a mask of flattery on his old face.

"Nonsense," Aizen disagreed. "I wouldn't dream of anything but the best for the former and new executives of the corporation. The occasion is much too large for a small get-together. As it so happens, I happen to have one of the largest places close to host such an event."

"Quite convenient, yes. My thanks cannot be enough. We are in your debt."

Rangiku paled. Toushiro stirred from his silent observation, bristling.

"Think nothing of it," Aizen smiled warmly, eyes glittering. He waved a hand. "Please, enjoy yourself for as long as you can," he said to Toushiro. "If you would excuse me, I have more guests to greet."

"Of course, of course," Grey-beard nodded profusely, grinning, and shaking the hand offered to him.

"I would like to speak with you," Toushiro snarled at the disengaged man.

"You heard the man," Grey-beard waved off Toushiro's alarm. "Think nothing of it. All is well, very well. Remember, make yourself known. It generates good business to be social and make many friends. As the new executive, it's your job now to collect as many of these powerful men to your side as possible."

Growling, almost like an animal, Toushiro trailed behind the man not two steps before he was being pushed in the direction of a crisply dressed business owner. Leaving Rangiku by herself.

Left to her own devices, the flutter in her stomach knotted.

For a couple hours she just wandered around, chit-chatting here and there after the full eight-course dinner, and duly noted that not a single were-creature had attended. When boredom set in, she took a couple glasses of wine and crossed the darkness to sit on a chair, nearly falling asleep when, again, Toushiro woke her.

"Matsumoto, we're leaving."

She muttered, wanting to roll to the side, but found she couldn't properly in the evening dress she wore. Peeking, she looked up into his irritated face. His arms were crossed, the white coat on and open, hair wild yet oddly in place as usual.

"Well, thank you for letting me know, Captain. Have a good rest of the night," she smiled.

He gave her a look crossing between a glare and silently asking if she was more than a little bit stupid. Her brow lifted defiantly. "I gave you the night off," he reminded her, turning his head away to glower at the offending host vampire obviously buttering up Grey-beard in front of his fellow colleagues. "You wouldn't be doing anything anyway without Weres. It defeats the purpose of you being here." He narrowed his eyes, sighing. "Looks like I won't be getting that report tomorrow."

"That's awfully kind of you, Captain, but I could maybe hang around and fill you in later." She couldn't really believe she offered to work, but he seemed frustrated and slightly beaten down, ignored like a little child lost in a big boy's playground.

"No," Toushiro resigned. "It's fine. I think I've seen enough."

Nodding, Rangiku stood and tossed an arm around his shoulders. "Alright, let's get out of here. And good riddance to them all! What do you think?"

He appeared uncomfortable and stiff, but eventually smirked and heartily agreed. He bide his appropriate good-byes to the right people, half reminded Grey-beard of his assignment, and left, with the five guards and Rangiku. Had she reason to, she would have fought a little harder, but she had nothing to stay for, and the knot in the pit of her gut started twisting slowly. By the time she and Toushiro piled into the waiting limo, her hands were shaking.

As they pulled from the curved drive of Las Noches, she saw Grimmjow's brilliant blue hair as he watched from the edge of a crowd waiting for entrance. His hands were stuffed in his pockets, but when he noticed her somehow through the tinting, he grinned wickedly and wide, flicking a hand once in a curt, sarcastic wave.

"Are you alright?" Toushiro asked, leaning over to see what she was staring at. He looked from outside to her, but she just smiled.

"I just saw someone I knew."

"That was a friendly look," he observed dryly.

"We aren't on the best of terms."

He shrugged, checked his watch, and leaned his head against the doorframe, rocking gently with the motion of the vehicle while Rangiku quickly grew sick with dread.

The driver took the turn into a bright pair of headlights and the screech of breaking tires.

(((())))

…Some of you might be a little confused…or a lot. All I can say is, sorry! It doesn't get any better! :D My hopes are to catch thyn curiosity, but I can never know if too much is too much (since I rather enjoy the unknown! The suspense! The unanswered questions until they're finally answered!) unless someone drops me a hint.

Am I begging?

No…no, of course not.

Just asking nicely. Very nicely.

As always, feedback is welcomed and readily devoured for nutrients. :D

Thanks!

By the way, second-to-last chapter, folks, not including the Epilogue.


	6. Chapter 6

Bleach isn't mine, because it if was then chapter 336 wouldn't have turned out like it did!

(((())))

The crunch of metal was deafening, swallowing the shriek in the limo as the vehicle leaped deftly to the right, toppling from its narrow escape to skid to a grinding halt snug against a building across the street. The storefront's glass shattered under the pressure of the car.

"Holy _shit_," exclaimed from the otherwise healthy vehicle. A door was kicked open, and Toushiro stumbled from the wreck bleeding from a cut on his cheek. Wide, excited eyes surveyed the mangled trash heap of the car they almost hit and the number of people in shock on the sidewalks, with faces pressed against glass, with cell phones pressed against ears. "Call an ambulance!" he shouted at everyone as he rushed towards the other car lying by itself. It hadn't hit anything except a streetlight and a sign. "Somebody call an ambulance!" he demanded, wondering whether to yank the door and see if anyone was inside.

"I've got a phone!" someone shouted, and the woman scrambled blindly though her purse.

Toushiro abandoned the car; he couldn't see a body or blood. He rushed to the driver's side of his limo, finding the man shaken, but alright. The boy helped him to the curb away from the crash to sit. Immediately, sensible people who gathered themselves began offering help. Two more dialed for the cops. A restaurant owner from the far corner ran in his apron with water, handing a glass to the driver and Toushiro.

"Are you alright, son?" he asked, squatting as much as his belly would let him. "Is someone on the phone with the hospital!"

"They're on their way!" someone answered from beside the limo. "Hey, hey! Wait, there's someone in here!"

Toushiro sucked a deep breath. "Matsumoto!"

Flashing lights announced the police arrival, soon followed by the scream of a fire engine. In the distance, after the firemen swarmed the car, the whine of the ambulance sounded.

"It's alright!" the civilian called to Toushiro before the cops ushered him away, tossing the kid a thumbs-up. "She's alright. Just a bit dizzy."

Toushiro sighed with relief, and focused better on what the cop was asking, but watched as some firemen helped Rangiku to her feet. Her dress was torn a bit and hanging a bit lower down her chest, but it didn't seem to bother her. She was scowling actually, and favoring her left leg a bit.

It all became blurry when the ambulance showed, tossing all three of them into stretchers one-by-one until their simple diagnosis cleared them from a trip to the hospital. Yet. They hovered as the cops questioned the victims and some bystanders, took statements, and kept the general public and already on-hand media at bay. The car was pronounced empty, and trucks were called to have it removed since traffic going all four directions was at a standstill. Rangiku got away from it all with a bitch of a cramp in her leg, Toushiro had a couple cuts from the window his head hit—he was going to the hospital without question, but he was fine enough to give his end of the event—and the driver also had a one-way ticket to sickbed with his name on it. One of the ambulances loaded him in, geared up its siren, and chugged off through the congested traffic the moment a couple cop cars took point and rear for escort. Toushiro was likewise ushered back into a bed, but he refused the straps and oxygen tank, saying he bumped his head, that he wasn't about to pass out and certainly not about to die when a faceless scream rose form the crowd.

He turned in time to hear Matsumoto gag ferociously, heaving her dinner into the street as the people pushed against the yellow tape and restraining police to get away from the crux of the refreshed chaos.

Across the way, atop a building, Toushiro squinted to see through the darkness shadowing the roof where the downed sign and streetlight would have normally illuminated. All he saw as the fearful crowd mulled and chattered, radios crackled to life as cops quickly exchanged with dispatchers, was the flash of a very pale, hook-fingers hand reach into the light before it disappeared again.

With the medics' attention elsewhere, Toushiro slid from the gurney and ran to Rangiku's side. The skin of her shoulder burned like fever and trembled terribly. The hand holding her stooped form up shook like a tremendous weight pressed her down, like she could hardly hold herself up. "Matsumoto? Matsumoto, are you alright?"

Toushiro coughed, choking like he'd breathed in a powder, and the back of his tongue tingled with an odd sugary, salty mixture.

"Tell me you taste that," Rangiku said roughly, swallowing the flavor of sugar that overpowered the real taste of bile burning her hoarse throat.

"I taste something," he said, bewildered, the shock of the crash that he'd shaken off returning as the fear from the surrounding people grew, overtaking the boy's calmness.

"Good. Lesson number one, kid: sugar equal Were, salt equal vampire. Now get their attention," she pointed shakily at the police, many holding their firearms. "And tell them they're going to need more than twenty-twos. Quick. I don't know what they're waiting for."

Everything seemed so damn familiar to her. The car crash mostly, of all things. She's face these kinds of Weres before, had a few attacks happen in the past, but never, never had she _ever_ been in a car accident. And lived… She shook her head, focusing on the worried face of her much too young boss. Only after she lied enough, told him she was fine, did he finally move.

Scrambling to his feet, Toushiro ran to address the oldest cop there, correctly picking the man in charge. From the looks of it, he wasn't about to listen to a kid. Damn it. Rangiku wrestled weak muscles to stand and began making as straight and unlimping a line for the cop as she could when a sickening thud smacked against the ground. More screams rose, and nothing could hold the crowd's surge as a slobbering, white-eyed zombie peeled itself from the sidewalk, straightening its limbs before wildly searching the scrambling feet. A shot between the eyes stilled it. The people close enough began to settle down yet headed away from the danger zone.

"We've got it," a cop was saying into his radio.

The eerie moment of silence, broken only by the murmur of the radio, broke into nail-biting shrieks of the living dead. Zombies tumbled from the roofs, colliding into people, piling into a grey, hissing heap. Like ants, everyone scattered.

With the sickening tearing at her gut, Rangiku fumbled at her waist for the hidden weapon. A sea of bodies suddenly separated her from Toushiro. "Captain? Captain! _Toushiro_!"

Guns readied, no body could fire. Orders went unheeded, cops began shoving to try and reach any zombie they could before the stupid creatures finally got a hold of the fact that meals were running in frantic circles around them.

Rangiku finally unsnapped her camouflaged weapon, bringing to bear a long, narrow-barreled gun, arrow shaped around the handle to fit her hand, and an extended point at the top half of the barrel to double as something like a knife or sword. It shed the camo of her dress only to shimmer and disappear again, immediately taking the form of what was behind it. To anyone else, it appeared she was waving a half fist at the zombie crawling towards her, mentally knocking both its arm from its body. The zombie collapsed, struggling toward her with feral indifference to the pain and thick, black blood oozing from the severed appendage. It was finished quickly, and lay still.

"Toushiro!" she tried again, and was clipped from behind by a stumbling man shielding his face from the creature on his back, cursing as her weapon slide from her lax grip. She couldn't see a ripple of asphalt through all the feet, so called, "Haineko!" Two feet away, lying across a drainage vent, the gun appeared. Someone bent to pick it up, wild with fear, but yelped as the sword-gun hissed up their arm, leaving four thin, deep marks up to their elbow.

"Matsumoto!" she heard, turning with weapon in hand and spotted him atop the ambulance, fending himself from a large male zombie. She could see a bite mark on his shoulder, bleeding, but the snarl twisting his lips told her that he was more than ok. A quick shot and the creature fell the same moment Rangiku dropped to her knees, nearly blacking out from the sweet filling her senses and mind.

The screams of what people were left at the intersection increased as a large dog-like animal stalked from the adjacent rooftops, clinging to the brick wall with large claws, watching with narrow, yellow eyes the destruction. After him, a second emerged, black, distinctly feline. His broad, male human-like chest rippled as he strode on two legs, white whiskers decorating the sharp face and bright blue eyes. Its lips curled in something of a smile, glancing at Rangiku barely conscious at his huge paws.

The canine leapt forward, shoving his nose against her back, sniffing. Its tongue lolled grinningly from the long snout. The feline growled.

"Holy fucking hell!" Answering gunshots called the canine's attention as a bullet squarely hit his shoulder. With a savage howl, and a gleeful gleam in his eyes, he charged the remaining cops, crushing a squad car underneath large, heavy paws.

From under the ambulance now, Toushiro quietly discerned his means of escape, scanning for anymore Weres, not finding Matsumoto anywhere in the rubble and dead bodies his young mind refused to see. The gunshot eventually all silenced, the dog returned, grinning broadly and licking his dirty chops. That sweetness returned, Toushiro realized, but like he'd eaten a small piece of sugar candy. The boy hardly realized, though, he was close to hyperventilating and shaking head to toe, but he would not leave, not until he knew his subordinate had gotten away too.

Zombies, injured and fairly unharmed, slowly made their way towards the feline and whatever he was guarding mulishly. At his spitting roar they skittered away, hissing, stumbling over their own arms and legs and whatever happen to be in their way.

Both Weres sharply turn their heads in Toushiro's direction, and for a terrifying moment he wondered if they'd sniffed him out. He hardly knew anything about the creatures themselves, didn't know strengths or weaknesses, banes, nothing. Besides the obvious animal differences, he couldn't classify either of them properly.

When they looked away, the canine actually stretching out like he was about to take a nap, Toushiro breathed with relief, flooded with anger at his inabilities. Too young or not, he _was_ gaining access to the company's library and every file he could presently understand. Like Matsumoto had said, she didn't want an unknowledgeable boss when the time came. Well, the time came, and he was far from prepared, far from knowledgeable, and thinking, like everyone else, that his young age gave him plenty of years to learn what he needed to know.

Bull. All of it. He was so pissed. No physical weapon, no smarts.

Somebody, no, _everybody_ was going to hear about this.

What if it had been anyone else with him? What if it had been Momo?

His fists curled. This was not going to happen again.

The feline lazily cocked his head to the roof, and then leapt away, the lanky canine on his heels. The zombies stood still a moment longer before zeroing in on the victim Toushiro couldn't see, for whomever was lying behind a crumpled, twitching zombie. As they fell atop the person and no screams came forth, he ignored it as someone already gone. But people were prostrate everywhere and the zombies only wanted a certain one?

He thought, recalling how each attack on any given individual ended as soon as the person stopping moving. Apparently, the fun ended then, or zombies only stalked moving prey, explaining why they completely ignored his very much alive self hiding only under a vehicle. Meaning whomever was alive…

Alive. Alive! _They were alive_! His mind screamed, but his body wouldn't move. A weapon; he needed a weapon.

Spying a long piece of glass from the store window, Toushiro snatched it up without thought, squirming from his hiding place with a wild snarl. Pumped to the trembling point with adrenaline, when he swung at the first zombie he missed, snagging on the creature's tangled chalk-white hair. It ignored him; he missed the three edging woundedly towards him from behind.

_Move. Move. Move._ He thought he chanted to himself until his own voice caused him to jump and finally notice the hand wrapped firmly around his ankle.

Toushiro made to hack at the appendage, focusing so closely on the milky eyes of the zombie that he blinked once, twice, and the face was gone. No trace, but the hand that had grabbed him left bright red skin, bleeding, that already had begun to purple into a bruise. From his new position on the ground, Toushiro stared up into a black neck, thick lines running up into a furred face, blue eye, and the zombie chomped between massive jaws that could easily take his head in a single bite. Over the feline's shoulder slinked the canine, yellow eyes bright against the dark brown fur. His breath stank of death, the blood of those he'd snapped dried into the fur around his viciously smiling mouth. A nose shoved into Toushiro's chest, hard, knocking the breath from his lungs, and the canine sniffed deeply, sucking Toushiro's clothes and skin. He snorted all over the boy, disgusted, but devilishly playful as well.

The feline spit the zombie out, lapping his tongue to rid the taste, but likewise quickly destroyed every zombie left thriving. While his companion was busy, the canine took Toushiro's filthy, tattered suit coat between his teeth, and lifted. Toushiro's hand tightened further around his shard and lurched upward, stabbing anywhere he could reach. With a yowl, right in Toushiro's ear, he flung the kid sharply, pawing at his face to dislodge the offending glass from his eye.

Toushiro felt himself smack a hard, fur-covered chest and the angry rumble erupting from deep therein. Dark paws of his unlikely savor none to kindly dropped Toushiro to swipe stark white, deadly sharp claws across the already wounded shoulder of the canine.

Disoriented, Toushiro barely heard the smooth, deep, outrageously calm voice cut through the snarls and yowls of the brawling Weres. "That was hardly nice, Nnoitra. I do recall asking you leave him alive."

A snort, another growl, but it otherwise fell into a creepy silence filled only with the heavy breathing of the two werecreatures.

"Wake, up, Toushiro," the voice he recognized, and hated, called. "Another ambulance is on the way."

Through the blood from his deeply sliced fingers that he unknowingly wiped across his face, Toushiro glared, spitting venomously, "Aizen!"

"My," Aizen smiled, kneeling over Toushiro as the Weres paced, noses to the wind, ears pricked and searching. "I believe you'll do fine."

"_You_! You did this!"

"Those are heavy words, Toushiro. But, to make sure you understand, I was attending the party you had just left. What an accident. I wonder if it had anything to do with the coven leader who was killed. Revenge, perhaps, on your subordinate."

"What… Subordi—Matsumoto! Where's Matsumoto?"

Aizen's smile returned, and he stood so he peered down into Toushiro's livid, glazed eyes. He flicked his wrist towards the Weres, and the feline stepped forward, lifting the person whom Toushiro had tried to save. The boy paled when long, strawberry blonde hair rose into view, dusting messily over her pale face.

"As I said," Aizen reiterated, "It's not your time, Toushiro. I'm terribly sorry you had to witness all this at such a young age." Toushiro tore his gaze from where the feline disappeared onto the inkiness of shadows on the roofs and gazed, half terrorized, half murderous, into Aizen's chillingly serene eyes. "But never forget it."

He was gone before the rush began anew: cops, ambulances, investigators, and paranormal personnel. The whole shebang. Toushiro missed the second half of his own angry babbling as darkness heavier than night consumed his exhausted mind and body.

(())

Gin ghosted down the unusually quiet halls of Las Noches, breathing the charge in the air, slightly concerned for it, but also thinking it might be cause for a bit more interesting developments that would hopefully last for a little while at least. Seeing as today was so horribly close to the other sporadic dates of her death.

Which, accordingly, was not right.

His smirk slipped when the shifted form of Nnoitra lumbered across the junction of the hall, headed in the opposite direction. Gin whistled lightly in mock wonder. Nniotra curled his lip, baring fangs as long as Gin's forearm, showing off his freshly missing eye.

"Yer gittin' blood on th' carpet," Gin noted.

The Were huffed mightily, growling until out of earshot.

Well, something fun happened while he was gone. Gin felt a bit left out.

He passed an unhappy Grimmjow next sitting with elbows resting on his knees in the large common room. No one else was about. The werepanther was scowling at nothing, not a particularly atypical thing, but his hands were gripped together until his knuckles turned white.

Gin made a disappointed noise. "So somethin' did happen."

"Fuck off and go see that damned woman of yours."

Gin disappeared rather quickly, frowning close enough to an actual scowl.

He approached Aizen's office, but heard the chatter and merrymaking of a party behind the doors, and moved on, taking to another two stories up into the same room with the same torn drapes, same couch, table, chair. With the same woman he enjoyed carrying up here to mess with her memories lying on that couch.

Aizen glanced up from behind his interlaced fingers. "There you are."

"I gathered somethin' went down," Gin grinned sharply. "Jus' di'n't really know what. What sorta trouble ya got into now?"

The older vampire smirked. "Nothing I've done, rather, something unfortunate at the corner."

"Saw all th' lights an' people runnin' 'round."

"An accident," he motioned to Rangiku. "But I think she's still alive."

Tensely, Gin asked, "Why don' ya take her ta th' hospital?"

Aizen shrugged lightly, and rose, moving to the door. "I assumed you've gotten a little tired of the games, is all. If you want, take her yourself. I have no objections to that."

"Thought ya di'n't want Thirteen after ya."

"Leeway," Aizen said, his back to the grinning vampire as Gin likewise kept his back to Aizen. "It's your decision."

The door clicked shut.

Gin's red eyes gazed down at her. He flicked a strand of hair away from her eyes, and knelt down, folding his long arms and resting his chin on them, placing his face extremely close to hers. He imagined her eyes were open and glaring, laughing. He imagined each time when he was granted her presence and how soon it was always ripped from him. On his part, he knew what he would choose. On her part…well, she'd always been somewhat unpredictable, at first. It was a question he'd never really get to ask her if he chose to let the nature imposed on her take its course.

She'd say, someway or another, even while perplexed by him, he could spot it in her eyes, that she'd never seen him before, never met him before.

Well, she'll never get that chance again.

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Well…who else had issues with 336? Cause I know I do.

Last chapter, folks. Epilogue is coming up next. Then I'd like to go back and edit all the chapters, tighten them up a bit. Not that people actually go back and reread anything…do people go back and reread? Anyway…yeah…hopefully the next chapter ends in a good way. This week is looking a bit dreary so far.

As always, feedback is welcome.


	7. Chapter 7

Bleach isn't mine.

Last chapter, folks. Enjoy!

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Toushirou abruptly woke, and immediately wanted to shield his eyes from the blinding lights. But something caught his hand. He yanked it a little with no reward, so tugged harder, yelping when the needle shifted under his skin.

"Shirou," Momo's voice, hyped with worry, trembled a bit. A small hand grasped his growing one and gently placed it back beside him. "Don't pull on that."

He grunted.

"I'll go get—" She stopped when his free hand caught her sleeve. Momo turned, finding his somewhat sleepy eyes dark, a little musky from the drugs, but still Shiro, still Toushirou.

"No," he murmured, shaking his head slowly. "Don't call them in here. I don't want them in here."

"Alright," she soothed him, reaching to stroke his limp hair hanging into his eyes. "I won't. Calm down."

He sighed, relaxing visibly, "Good."

"Are you hungry? Thirsty?"

Toushirou blinked his eyes open—they'd drooped as she continued to pet his forehead—and watched her innocent eyes inspect his face, the thick bandage on his cheek, the hand wrapped tight since he'd nearly sliced half of each finger off with the glass he'd used last resort as a weapon. His chest felt tight; he didn't remember breaking his collarbone.

He tried to picture what it would look like with Momo thrown into that hellish mix. What he could see frightened and angered him; what he couldn't made him shudder and shift under the cold sheets damp with his sweat.

Oblivious to his torment, Momo withdrew, taking the harsh frown that he wanted to be left alone.

"Where are you going?" he asked as she handled the door.

"Um," she smiled wanly. "Outside?"

He wanted to laugh, but it hurt, so he just smirked, soaking in the childlike purity in her eyes and manners, so contrary to the people he associated with the most for the past few weeks. Toushirou waved her forward.

"I don't want _you_ going anywhere, idiot."

Momo huffed, "Well, fine. What do you want, Mr. Grumpypants?"

His brow lifted at the name, but he seriously considered her simple question. The humor drained from his face. Fresh worry spurred him to speak, to draw her attention from his own mess.

"You can…" He seemed a bit embarrassed, turning his head away.

"What?"

He tousled his bangs roughly, face reddening a bit. "This. Whatever this was."

She blinked, but giggled, a little flushed herself when she began brushing his hair back again. "Better?"

Toushirou hummed gruffly, but his brow smoothed soon enough. "'m a bit tired, Momo," he muttered.

"Then sleep, silly."

He did, fitfully and deep. His lips parted eventually. Momo fiddled with the hem of her shirt, so horribly worried and scared for him that it almost made her sick. While he had always been a rough-spoken, scowling little boy, something in him changed after he became executive of Paranormal Thirteen, Inc. He would have anyway, but especially after the attack Shirou had changed, become harder, colder, grown up. He was in a place she feared she could never reach, that if she fell too far behind then he'd just leave her there. She didn't want to be baggage, but how could she catch up when he'd already been through so much, and she was nearly two years older than him!

Momo wasn't sure, but quietly decided to be a little selfish and hold on to him as long as he let her. Not only was he a good friend, her best friend, but she couldn't help but feel a slight pull whenever he was around, grumpy and distant or not. She had to hold on.

Slowly, she sat on the bed beside him, moving his bandaged hand to rest on his chest, placed a chaste kiss to his warm forehead, and curled as close as she dared to his tender side.

"Happy Birthday, Toushirou."

(())

He hated the meeting hall.

Or was it the people that made it so unpleasant?

Either way, he hated it. Especially now, with the vampire lord poisoning his people with blatant lies right in front of him.

Toushirou squirmed in his chair, the cast on his chest itchy and hot, also hating having to sit here the whole damn time.

"I hope you understand," Aizen was saying, "That the incident in question was not intentional or orchestrated on my behalf. If you recall, shortly before Matsumoto Rangiku left for a time, there was a small local coven leader brutally murdered. Am I so certain there are underlying connections? Of course not. But I can assure you all that I handle my people precise and with extreme care. Nothing of this magnitude would have escaped my notice."

"Yes," Grey-beard waved the vampire on. "We understand all of this, and have already spent plenty on investigators for whoever was behind the attempt on Hitsugaya Toushirou's life. It's regretful for our former employee, but at least he is safe."

"Yes, of course," Aizen locked eyes with the boy, now thirteen for a number of weeks, but still unable to make his stand in his own company. The request to have books and files from the library was still tangled in the web of his unfavorable advisors, the ones he forcibly had appointed having such a small voice in any decision-making process that it drove him mad. Like he silently endured under the laughing gaze of Aizen Sousuke. "Very regrettable. I feel deeply for your loss," the vampire addressed him, daring him to lash out and deny everything Aizen just told his entire Board, the people who could essentially have him removed from office under strenuous circumstances.

Toushirou got away with a nod.

The meeting concluded.

"Thank you for taking time to speak," Grey-beard was shaking Aizen's hand once again.

"It's not a problem at all. Anything for the young master of Paranormal Thirteen."

What a snake, Toushirou thought as he excused himself quickly, rushing to meet Momo outside for a cast change at his own personal clinic on company grounds.

When Aizen departed, another meeting was immediately called, exclusive and secret. The doors were locked, and grim faces turned for the worst as Grey-beard seated himself with a grunt.

"Well?" he urged.

"We're not entirely sure how," a woman in the back of the stadium-style room spoke, "but the statistics are clear: the Cycle has been tampered with on a much greater scale than we originally believed. All the clues indicate Matsumoto Rangiku as the culprit."

"That's impossible," a man reasoned. "How can she mess with the Cycle if she doesn't know anything about it?"

"How do we know she doesn't?" the woman argued, joined by a number of agreeing voices.

"Because," Grey-beard interrupted sharply, "no one is supposed to have that knowledge."

"Then someone leaked information!" roared a middle-aged man, standing to his feet quickly.

A murmur rose.

"Impossible," the first man waved his hand. "Information not known can't be spread. This was an outside job."

"You're a hypocrite! How can it be an outside job when no one knows about it to tell except the Board?"

"Then it was one of _us_!"

The uproar of forty-six Board members was silenced quickly enough by Grey-beard. "What we need to consider here are all the possibilities, ridiculous or not. The most crucial thing here is the fact that somehow the Cycle _was_ corrupted but not broken. For now, as policy, nothing of this situation will go beyond these walls." The threat in his deep tone kept the other members solemn and pondering, or sulking on the end of the Developmental Department who headed the monitoring of the Cycle. "Now, until we gather more intelligence, the matter is closed. Proceed," he motioned to the younger folks, the Developmental Department.

A young man, not a Board member but a key scientist in the branch, stood, adjusted his glasses, and cleared his throat. "The new specimens have been a great success, defying popular belief," he directed at many of the skeptics in the crowd, "and should be ready to integrate into the Cycle."

"Good," Grey-beard nodded. "We have an open spot next rotation. It will be a good time to test these modifications."

The scientist cleared his throat again.

"Yes?"

"Well, when we say a 'great success' we mean as in 'there are a few of them being born already'."

(())

Aizen Sousuke was smiling as he entered his own white limousine, taking his cell phone out as the vehicle jumped onto the road of the privately owned grounds, and out into the busy afternoon streets.

The ear piece buzzed as it rang. He glanced out the window, seemingly enjoying the view of people passing by.

The receiver clicked alive, and a voice answered.

"The ball is in your court," he said, hardly containing the sheer malicious pleasure from his words. He snapped the device shut.

**To be concluded**

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For anyone interested, there will be a sequel called Cascade. Not the dishwashing compound. Haha! Anyway, if you'd like to see everything as it comes to a close be on the lookout for it. Shouldn't be too long before it's posted. I hope it being a crossover with Naruto won't be a problem. If anyone caught the hints, a couple characters from Naruto have already made appearances.

Also, I'm making a prequel to After Never called Before Forever, which will be events prior to this story, but completely in the Naruto fandom. It's still in the works, so might be posted during or after Cascade. Or, in a strange event, before Cascade.

Anyway! Look for that, those of you interested.

A big thanks to anyone who reviewed, and to all those lurkers out there. You guys are great. Hope to see you in the next two! And don't forget to spread the GinRan love!

Happy New Year!

HH-san


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